


An Inadvertent Detour

by EverestV



Series: Playing The Hand Dealt (Punkcop Prompt Fills) [19]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverestV/pseuds/EverestV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: instead of watching Beth step off the platform, Sarah reaches out and grabs Beth’s arm to get a better look at her face…<br/>Some things were never meant to happen, some things were never meant to be stopped. The Butterfly Effect is evident all around us, the resulting ripples are easily seen.<br/>But other things are set in stone, they happen regardless of outside influences.<br/>And still other things just need a second chance to prosper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Time, Another Place

It’s late, Sarah knows that. And Sarah knows that it’s a wonder S is even answering at all. She could be facing an empty dial tone right now or S could have hung up the second she said hello. But that didn’t happen. And instead she finds herself arguing on a train platform, the night wind drifting through her hair and nudging at her cheeks, and it could be worse. “I want to see Kira, okay?” _Who’s asleep right now, probably. Hopefully I didn’t wake her up. But...maybe hopefully I did._ The reply comes terse and pointed and Sarah blinks fast, rolls her eyes, acts on autopilot. “Well that’s not fair, is it?”

A soft noise sounds behind her in the semi-bright light of the platform: a barely suppressed sob, the steps of a pacing woman, a breathless struggle that isn’t meant to be noticed. Several feet away Sarah can just see the beginning of a breakdown (even now she can still recognize the signs). Something makes her want to approach.

“Can I at least _speak_ to her?” With the reply, Sarah turns her focus back to the conversation at hand, trying to remind herself what’s immediately important. She tries to pump frustration into her voice, tries to fill it with as much entitlement and firmness as it can manage to hold. But it isn’t like she expected anything different from this phone call exchange, not after this long. “Hello?” Still, the silence on the other end isn’t appreciated.

“ _Bitch_.” Slamming the phone back on the receiver, letting herself get washed back by the wave of force she exerted, Sarah takes a step away from the callbox. _What else can I...Felix, maybe?_ She moves forward again, fishes through her pockets, tucks the phone into the crook of her neck, but counting a second time is pointless. She doesn’t have enough change for another call.

Now the cold is getting to her, the silence of the still, stale air deafening, and as she looks up and down the station, she realizes how quickly she’s running out of options. Her hands start to shake as they sit hidden in her pockets and she wills her feet to move forward again: down the platform, toward the pacing woman, all the while wondering how this lady could be frantic and cracking and wearing such a pristine business outfit at the same time. _It doesn’t matter. This square’s bound to have change, right?_

So Sarah gives in, that urging feeling to approach returning and propelling her forward. Just. Slowly. The woman is still crying and Sarah is most definitely about to interrupt something. She doesn’t belong in this situation, she’s not supposed to be here, she’s really not supposed to be doing this. Desperate times, she figures, but her head tilts forward and to the side, engaged but timidly submissive, her steps unsure and cautious and it’s the slowest she’s moved in weeks.

_In, out. In, out._ Sarah starts to tell herself this as she weaves through the platform’s central pillars, following the pattern of the woman’s pacing closely, before biting back a laugh. She should be able to breathe just fine, even while raw instincts war with budding apprehension. _It’s her who needs to take deep breaths. In, out, in, out, in...oh. She stopped crying._

The woman has also stopped pacing, and as Sarah gets closer she notices a rigid calm sweep over her. It’s forced, Sarah can see that easily, but the sudden lack of sobs, the sudden lack of noise, makes the empty platform air all the more stagnant. Sarah shivers but keeps moving forward.

Because the woman stands there in place and steps out of her shoes. She stands there in place and slowly peels off her jacket. She stands there in place, silent and still and determined and _breaking_ , and a visceral roar is building at the back of Sarah’s mind. _What’s she doing, what’s she thinking, why is she...why is she giving up is she giving up is this it, what’s her plan, what do I have to do to stop..._ The woman places the carefully folded jacket on the ground.

By the time denial catches up with her racing mind, closing up her throat and keeping her feet in motion, “are you alright?” on the edge of her teeth and eyes on the verge of bleeding forward to somehow stop the woman’s detached movements, the woman is turning. Sarah is aware of a sudden rising panic, a strange kind of concern, an urge to run away but also _toward_ : all filling up her chest and making her heartbeat resound loudly in her ears, and this woman is turning. Turning to face her.

With shoulders high and then limp, deep breaths entering and exiting haphazardly from cold lips, tears are clogged now and sobs are suppressed and any hitches of breath have no means of escape. The woman seems sure of this fact, and Sarah...Sarah can...see it in her face. _Her_ face. Because her face and _her_ face are one and the same and this woman has Sarah’s face and maybe then again it’s nothing like Sarah’s face because Sarah’s face has never looked: so tired, so slack, so empty of...of _anything_ and _everything_ and...and.

Sarah is frozen in place, joints locked up and hands clammy, but she knows she can’t be still. Movement, movement, _movement_ is necessary right now and Sarah needs to engage right now and...and. The blood rushes from her face and her expression blankens into an arresting surprise and her body leans back almost on its own accord, but she needs to explore. She knows she needs to investigate and discover and push forward and this is scary and this is new but something potent and undeniable draws her to this woman with the same face, this woman who obviously is connected to her somehow— _some twin sister? Could this be it?_ Could this really be it, the moment that Sarah’s family erupts from the shadows on a dark train station platform, a completely unknowable phenomenon, a one in a million chance at something real, something meant to be?

And yet everything is moving slow. On the very precipice of self-discovery, time is crawling down the mountain slope and Sarah is trying...trying to make sure this is real. She wants to reach out and touch her, just ever so slightly, just ever so much _enough_ , but there’s a wall between them. Or maybe a door. And as they stand there in that sliver of a moment, quiet and still, Sarah waits for her throat to open up again so her tongue can open it and she can move forward, forward, _forward_.

The problem is that they’ve run out of time. The woman’s expression has solidified now, the epitome of steadfastness, as if this meeting simply confirms her suspicions or strengthens her decision. And then she’s turning again, turning away, turning to her left, posture slack and painfully open and feet moving as if heading towards a dead end. It’s plain in the way she carries herself: there’s no need to fight this anymore and no reason to either, no energy to take back control and no means of using it even if she could. This woman is losing, or maybe she’s winning, or maybe she’s just refusing to play the game.

But Sarah is losing this chance, this strange and wonderful chance that burst from thin air, and she’s telling herself to move. She’s enraptured by this woman and everything about her and suddenly there’s a light growing brighter in Sarah’s face but she’s trying to ignore it, trying not to blink, trying not to miss anything, screaming at herself to _goddamn_ _ **move**_. There’s a rumbling somewhere, violent vibrations building and coursing through the ground and into her feet, and _Manning, move move move mo_ —

“Hey, wait.” The words tumble out of her mouth as she reaches forward and grabs the woman’s wrist and pulls back. Pulls back, away from an oncoming train, letting it pass them, as the woman’s chin collapses against her chest.

The suspicion of suicide stopped becoming important the second Sarah saw the woman’s face, but now, now that the immediate danger is rolling to a harmless stop and opening its doors to benevolent passengers, it’s the only thing crowding her mind. She isn’t sure if... _Are you supposed to apologize for stopping a stranger’s suicide?_

Sarah doesn’t know but the woman isn’t moving, doesn’t seem to care about her wrist in a stranger’s hand, doesn’t seem to be aware of much of anything besides the sobs that are attacking her chest again, in earnest this time, with no hope of a dam or safety net to hold them back.

“Wait...” Sarah’s words are fading and growing less sure of themselves, forming circles on her tongue, never really getting anywhere. But neither of the two even register the clumsy sound the words make. They simply stand in the aftermath of an event that was never supposed to happen and try to make sense of the stagnant silence and frigid wind that envelop them and separate them and bring them closer all the same.

Once Sarah realizes she’s still holding the woman’s wrist—tightly, securely, maybe overwhelmingly—the need to apologize bubbles back up into her throat. She just isn’t sure for what, or maybe where to start. She can’t find her voice, and her balance feels off. Better to keep holding onto the woman. For both of their sakes’.

Sarah drags them both to where the woman’s clothing and purse still lie on the ground, glancing around to make sure no one is paying attention. Only a trickle of a crowd is heading toward the idle train, not enough to be concerned about, so Sarah moves on. Her hands need something to do, they need a task to keep them busy, and this is how she steadies herself.

“Sorry, I just...” The words are scratchy and useless as they drift through the stale air. Sarah is rummaging through the woman’s bag and despite not hearing any signs of protest, she apologizes. Her chest feels full of sorry’s she can’t really comprehend, but she pushes the rest back down for now. Better to just find a wallet...look at the ID...confirm this is all really happening. “Um, Miss Childs? I want to...well, we should...”

“I-It’s Beth.”

“Beth? I’m Sarah.”

“I know.”

“I, uh...we should talk, but...for now is there, um...a place I could take you or...”

“No. No, I can’t—”


	2. It's a Given We're At The (Edge of Desire)

Sarah can already feel exhaustion drain away from her bones and a numb blankness take its place. Body too young for  _ this _ , arms too thin to carry  _ this _ weight, she runs on an endurance once forced down her throat, now second-nature. She runs on instinct, runs on a deep-set drive to escape regardless of the likeliness of success. Distance between her and  _ this _ is the goal. If she pauses to think about any of it, she’ll falter. She can’t stop now.

Because  _ this _ is bigger than...because  _ this _ is not something she...it hits her like an avalanche— _ Clones,  _ **_clones_ ** _. Of me. I can’t dump this on anyone else, this is my problem. Mine. I can’t...shite— _ and she just runs faster. Farther. Pushes herself, joints creaking for the first time in a long time, limbs starting to consider protesting. But she needs to keep  _ moving _ . It’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

You move from point A to point B. Point B to point C. Point C to point wherever-the-fuck-else. It's simple. It's linear, continuous.

_ That’s the same street... _

Sarah stops short, grasps the pole of the sign: bleached knuckles, sweat running down pounding temples, all shaking legs and shaking hands and shaking lungs and rattling breaths. She doesn't bother pulling her hood back up when it slips from her head.

_I swear that's the same street as the...as the train station._ **—Clunky change spilling from tired pockets, overly expensive payphones and cut-short phone calls, the lonely howl of an incoming train—** _That's the same bar. That's the same park. Bloody Christ, I'm...I'm going in circles._ **—Crying not meant to be heard, grief not meant to be approached, the breaking down of a force of nature never before captured on film, never meant to be witnessed, never never never hurry up you're losing her—** _Shite, how long have I...which way have I been...how far did I even..._ ** _fuck_** _stop thinking about her, Manning!_

She digs in and hangs on tight, fingers reaching around to squeeze mercilessly at her temples and push herself away from the crutch of the street sign. She needs to stand on her own weight.

_ Just think. You're not stopping, you're not taking a break, you're not delaying anything, you're still  _ **—Forward, moving forward, the woman, the dream, the figment of imagination, the eyes that screamed for help as long as it didn't suffocate and Sarah, the witness, the reluctant bystander, the one rushing in to intervene, the hand clawing and grasping and stretching out just a bit farther please oh god please no this is not going to** **_happen_ ** **I'm not going to see** **_this_ ** **no!—** Sarah breaks away like a  ~~ starting ~~ gun gone off.

She tore down the street, imagined smoke whispering out of the soles of her shoes, pushed and pushed and bent her head lower lower moved farther farther go go g  **—Skin against skin. The weight of two leaning to one side. The side away. Away from the train. Away from what could have been. Away from the edge. No words were uttered. Fingers noosed around a wrist. Step back. Step back. Start stop jittery retreat silent asking silent begging start stop pause rewind pause pause stop...no wait press play. Let the clock run out. Steady down your heartbeat. Breathe. Ask questions later. Focus on the moment.**

**Look into your own eyes, reflecting different thoughts. Watch your face, not-your face, drift into unknown territory. Watch this face look more weathered and worn than yours could ever imagine. Watch this face become a possibility, a hypothetical, like you’re seeing into the future.**

**_No wait_ ** **pause stop rewind go back pause yes play.**

**Same face. Let’s start there. Same face that almost committed suicide. Discuss.**

**“I, uh, I-I’m sorry but...what...what is this? Who are you? Why were you...” Let go of her wrist. “I’m sorry.”—**

_ Sarah, for fuck’s sake, stop thinking about it! _

**← ← ←**

Beth is finally going to meet Katja in person and she can imagine it playing out in her head. Their situations aren’t ideal: there’s a speck of blood obvious-unnoticeable at the edge of Katja’s lip, Beth’s pockets rattle like dry-hollow-chattering bones when she walks. But they smile. They smile like breathing is a relief for once, smile like recognizing some childhood toy. The air is just air between them. There are no walls. No reservations. Let’s scream it from the rooftops before it becomes untrue: everything about this is safe. Beth reaches forward just as Katja does, like a mirror mocking-teasing-laughing playfully, and they shake hands. They're on the same side. They’re doing the same job. Digging, searching, finding, retrieving. Piecing the puzzle together, bleeding answers and conclusions until every part of this shitty mess is stitched onto their lapels like medals. Great minds think alike. Two is one, one is none. They’re gonna tear this thing apart.

 

Beth is waiting for Cosima’s class to finish. Well it should’ve already finished. She's come all this way. She’s at the back of a busy coffee shop, face hidden by a book, eyes reasonably hooded and immersed in her own solitary bubble. But don’t doubt that she’s watching, and watching carefully. Waiting.  _ She’s taking too long—  _ Bouncing and circles, colors and shapes, arms filled with books, a face filled with a comely kind of restlessness, Cosima strides in. Finally. And settles herself in the opposite chair as Beth puts her book down but keeps her head low. “Sorry I’m late, I— oh, hey, what’s wrong?” Beth is tired, Beth feels frayed at the edges. But Beth doesn’t need to say it out loud because Cosima looks and finds it on her own. Cosima reaches forward, settles a hand over Beth’s shaking one, and the two fit like magic. Or science, forces of nature that they are. And Cosima smiles and Beth opens herself to it, flips her hand over, the two interlace fingers, give each other one squeeze. They’re a unit. A dynamic duo against the forces of evil. They’ll slay their dragons, no sweat. They’re not doing it for thanks.

 

Beth is driving faster than she should be. She’s not in a patrol car, she doesn’t have a detachable siren with her (she doesn’t need the attention), she’s not on duty. She can’t be speeding through this many barely-yellow-clearly-red lights like this. But Alison’s voice was shaky on the phone. Alison’s voice has never been shaky like this. Beth parks haphazardly: empty lot, empty soccer field, empty— no. A solitary figure in the middle of the grass, pacing with small steps, arms wrapped around shaking lungs. It’s not Beth in that position this time, but  _ god _ what she would do for them to switch places. She’d happily welcome the shaking if it meant Alison could be still. Alison sees her, looks up with a drowning expression, wobbly eyes, and rushes forward. Beth opens her arms. The two fall against each other like magnets never meant to be parted. Alison is squeezing tight, tighter than she’s ever had before, and Beth is squeezing gentle and soft and careful, slowly enveloping the bird-bone skeleton, made-of-glass figure in her arms. Somehow different than her own figure yet somehow exactly the same. And as Alison’s blubbering fades away, as her quiet heavings turn into fluid breaths, as she becomes stiller against Beth’s chest, as she pours  _ Oh thank god you're here  _ straight into Beth’s own lungs, Beth feels stronger than she’s ever had. Alison’s grip doesn’t falter, clinging like breathing, holding fast: necessary but not necessarily to this extent. Beth doesn’t care how long this lasts because Alison’s stable now. Her shaking has stopped now, so Beth doesn’t move, doesn’t consider it. Beth lets that fill her until she’s smiling into a familiar shoulder, smiling into a welcoming smell, smiling into a soft neck. Alison’s the strong one, the fear-tipped point of a dagger blade. Most days. Some days she needs Beth at her side, in the contact of pressed-together hands, in the grip of an embrace. Beth’s the (relatively) steady one, the scutum shield reinforced with a longing that knows no bounds. She lives for the days when Alison is on the defensive and Beth is trusted to absorb all the blows like water. They're good together, it seems obvious enough. They build off each other. They're layer upon layer of support for each other, levels upon levels of foundations for each other, intertwined like the double helix strands they share. They’re a team. They're invincible.

  
  


_**Beth is at Huxley. Beth is looking over the edge of the platform, looking at the tracks. Now at the train coming in, at the train that's not slowing down. Beth takes a step forward. But** _ **she** _**stops her. Sarah. It must be. Sarah looks at her, all crooked smirk and dark eyes, dark in the way that's whole and put together and foreign and rare. Her hand is around Beth’s wrist, tugging backward, tugging like a mother. “Come on. It'll be alright. We can do this. We can protect them.” Something inside Beth wants to agree. The least she can do is step away from the edge, step toward Sarah. It's easier than she expected.** _

__****

_**But Katja is starting to frown. Katja’s expression turns narrowed, scrunches up, folds in on itself. Her smile is being torn-apart/ripped-out like stitches.** _

_**But Cosima is starting to frown. Cosima’s expression turns narrowed, scrunches up, folds in on itself. The whirlwind circles of her is settling under the threat of a sword drenched in dragon blood.** _

_**But Alison is starting to pull back. Alison’s expression turns narrowed, scrunches up, folds in on itself. Her tender strength is slowly being heated until it’s malleable enough to be struck out of shape.** _

 

_**But Beth is starting to feel something rise up her throat. Her expression is turning narrowed, scrunching up, folding in on itself. Sarah’s grip on her wrist is lessening considerably and she’s no longer smiling. She’s backing away. “I can’t protect you from this one. I can’t save you.” Beth falls to a crouch and releases a warm, wet cough.** _

_** ** _

_**Katja lets go of Beth’s hand. Katja doubles over and releases a warm, wet cough.** _

_**Cosima’s hand slides away from Beth’s. Cosima bends forward and releases a warm, wet cough.** _

_**Alison shifts out of Beth’s arms. Alison cranes her head to the side and releases a warm, wet cough.** _

_**Her/Their hand/s come away red and slick. They/She look/s at Beth with a gunshot-wound expression.** _

_** ** _

_**Beth reaches forward.** _

_**Beth tries to rest a hand against, and an arm around Katja’s back,** _

_**Beth tries to lean forward and hook onto and pull at Cosima’s elbow,** _

_**Beth tries to brush her fingers against Alison’s cheek, place a hand at Alison’s waist,** _

> _**but Beth can’t get the other arm across Katja’s chest before she falls forward and collapses.** _
> 
> _**but Beth can’t hold on tight enough to stop Cosima from sliding out of her chair to the floor.** _
> 
> _**but Beth can’t tense her muscles into a crutch before Alison’s knees give out and slips away.** _

__****

_**Blood is leaking from Beth’s mouth and she can’t stop coughing and she can barely keep her eyes open but she has to,** _ **she has to** _**, she has to make Sarah move closer. Sarah has to be closer, Beth’s arm can’t reach that far. Beth’s vision is being swallowed up. Beth is pitching to the side, falling, falling, fall—** _

 

 

Beth wakes up with a jerk, trying to catch herself, clawing pointlessly at the blankets. It takes her a second to recognize her room, recognize her bed, realize it was just the dream again. The dream with a new addition, a new clone, but still just a dream. She glances at the clock. Searches through the darksky stillness around her. She sits up, stands, and walks to the bathroom. 

She can’t go back to doing this. She can’t start waiting again, can’t handle more nightmares, more sleepless nights. She had tried to get rid of it all. Maybe it just comes down to trial and error. If at first you don’t succeed...

Bleary-eyed, she rifles through her cabinet, picking out pill bottles that are mostly empty, not bothering to read the labels or warnings or dosages. When had she ever? No. She takes them all into the crook of her elbow, cradling them over to the kitchen counter. Then takes a tall glass and a bottle of hard liquor: she doesn’t bother picking any one in particular.

She sets herself down at the counter, sits with legs hanging limply, with an elbow propped up on the surface, holding the glass steady as she pours. She shakes empty one pill bottle she’d long refilled: three little sleeping pills spill onto the counter, three pills swim down her throat. The drink doesn’t burn anymore. Swallowing is second-nature. She goes for the next pill bottle.

The doorbell rings.

She jerks at the sound, spills some of her drink. Lowers her head to the counter. She can figure out who it is.  _ This isn’t happening. This isn’t. I...I won’t let it. I’m not gonna be the one to drag another unsuspecting civilian into this shit. Not again. I didn’t mean to this time. _

She waits. Listens. Bites her lip and does something close to praying.

The doorbell rings.

She forces herself upward, forces herself into her bedroom, puts on a pair of running shorts that had been dormant in her closet for a while now, tucks her service weapon into the waistband against the small of her back.

She forces herself to open the front door.

She isn’t surprised by the face smudged with dirt and dust. She isn’t surprised by the tiredness sinking to the bottom of dark, dark-rimmed eyes. It’s all she’s been thinking about.

**→ → →**

Sarah shouldn’t be here. But she is. Everything about this screams wrong. But for once she’s ignoring the internal yelling. Sarah should be out there  _ moving _ , finding a way to stand on her own two feet, making do, living without. Like before.  _ Shite, like only a few hours ago... It feels like a lifetime ago. _

She’s standing outside someone’s door. Planning to ask for help, on the verge of...of begging. She hates to think it. She’ll hate to say it. But she’s lost all direction. Linearity is suddenly abstract, vague, senseless. Her feet can only take her in a great figure-eight, sickening circles around the same, dying city. It sends a shiver down her spine that she can’t seem to shake. Her veins are buzzing with an unprompted energy that she can’t warrant. Her pocketed fists are shaking. At least that is the same as always, at least that makes sense.

Locks click. The door swings open slowly, not fully, and there’s no doubt about it: what meets her is the same quiet face, familiar and strange and unmovable and cracked. The very same that only allowed a name—a first name,  _ Beth _ , a word uttered in such deadpan-stillness that it couldn’t have been taken any other way but as true—,  **_clones_ ** , and an address. This address. Sarah left this same, spiraling version of herself at this very door. Just several hours ago. Not much has changed. That scares her.

She realizes she’s going to have to be the first one to talk. “I’m sorry,  _ shite _ , I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I can’t really...I don’t  _ know _ , I just, I feel like I need to... _ break _ something, or—” Beth moves, slow and careful and exact. She shows Sarah her palm in the doorway, open and empty, and reveals the rest of her arm, sleeveless and bare. She pushes it forward through the air between them at a pace Sarah can interrupt at any time. Fingers loosely curled and offering, they fit around Sarah’s wrist, rubbing over her leather jacket with a ghostlike pressure. They pause there. Sarah doesn’t protest. Beth tugs her, gentle and slow, inside and closes the door behind them without locking it.

Beth walks forward. Sarah follows obediently. She could close her eyes and imagine they were back at the station with their roles reversed: now the other is pulling their... _ clone _ away from the train tracks.

Beth stops at a small coffee table just inside, ringed by a stiff-looking couch. She takes out a gun, a gun Sarah had been hoping wasn’t real, and sets it down, barrel facing the wall, away from them both. Then it’s back to the beginning. Beth shows her empty palm, reaches forward, pauses in the open air, moves forward again, wraps around Sarah’s waiting wrist. Tugs. Toward a bedroom, the only one. Sarah glances around, takes note of the pills and booze on the kitchen counter as they walk. Then Beth lets her go once in the doorway of her room.

Beth crawls to the far side of the bed, settling on top of lazily pulled up sheets, laying on her back, hands folded over her stomach, eyes closed. It isn’t a proposition, Sarah sees that right away. Beth isn’t asking anything of her. She’s letting Sarah know what she’ll be doing. Sarah could do whatever the hell she wanted. She could raid the no-doubt-existent liquor and/or medicine cabinet for all Beth was going to protest. Everything was enveloped in simple transparency, an empty palm shown and made clear. No threat. No rules.

Sarah looks around. She feels exhaustion seep back into her bones. She can just lay down right here, on the floor, curl up into herself, and sleep in her clothes. She’s done it before. Beth doesn’t move. Beth doesn’t open her eyes.

Sarah drops her backpack and slips off her jacket, lets it fall to the floor. She wrestles off her boots, letting them fall where they fall, adding to the pile. Her low-dangling necklaces are the last to go. Then she eases herself down beside Beth. And tries to lay still. It's easier than she thought it would be.

Sarah stares up at the foreign ceiling for as long as she can, right arm tucked behind her head, right leg straight but not stiff, left hand resting, cupping her hip, left elbow pressed close to her side, left knee bent and propped up. She breathes slow and soft, tries to memorize this new pace of hers. But eventually she turns her head to glance at Beth.

_ A wrinkled tank top, gym shorts, a pair of socks...one inside-out. She changed since I dropped her off. Does that mean she's okay now? Fuck, why did I just leave her like that?  _ Sarah maps out Beth’s hair, traces the messy strands, analyzes the color, guesses at the length. It's almost  ~~ like ~~ her own.  _ I mean, I don't know her, but we're not strangers either. Shite, we  _ are _ , but...we’re the same. But not at all. _

_ Dammit Manning, why couldn't you just forget about her? _ Sarah turns to stare back up at the ceiling. It's pointless. She closes her eyes.  _ Why didn't you just leave her at her door and went back to the plan? Sure you have nowhere to go, but you can just call Felix or...you'd figure out something. You didn't need to come back here. _

Her lip twitches.  _ No, I didn't have a fucking choice. I couldn't forget, no one could. I just wrecked her life. Or saved it. And that just didn't change her, that changed me too. We're...we're connected now. Just based on that alone. Shite, that sounds so bloody romantic. But either way...I'm not her. She's not me. That won't change. That still doesn't mean I get to dismiss her. She's living, breathing right next to me, because of me. And living with my face. And even if I didn't come back here she'd still be living and breathing somewhere else, always out there. And I’d know it. I couldn't just— I can’t ignore that. _

_ So. What now? _

Sarah turns on her side and stares down at her measly pile of belongings. She listens. She figures Beth is asleep. She knows that in any other situation, she would have gotten up and left given half the chance, find the opportunity when there’s nothing and no one to stop her, and she'd take it. But that instinct is hushed: by the bareness of the room around her, by the strange simplicity of the person beside her, by the candid complexity of the person beside her, by the pills on the kitchen counter, by a coat and purse and shoes left abandoned on a train platform, by a jacket and boots and necklaces resting easy on an unfamiliar carpet.

“Sarah?” The voice is quiet and unrushed and that’s instinctively appreciated. But the word is still terrifying for a moment.  _ How does she know my name? I didn’t tell her, I wouldn’t, I— no. No, yeah I told her. It seemed...it made sense at the time. She did give me hers, after all. Clam down. _

“Beth.”

They turn to face each other, one prompted by the movement of the other.

“I’m just running it through my head. You walked away. Distanced yourself from this thing. That didn’t work out for you?”

“...do you think it even could have?”

“Well it obviously didn’t for me.”  _ We’re the same. But not at all. _ “But at least I tried. I tried getting out a few times and a few hundred more than that in my head. The easy way, the hard way. I looked at this thing inside and out. I tried. So I just want to know why you gave up so quickly.”

“Do you blame me for stopping you at the station?”

“I’m trying to understand you.”

“So am I. I have no idea what we’re doing.”

“We?”

“We. That’s why it’s not really about giving up.”

“Not sure that’s how it works.”

“To be honest, neither do I, but that’s what I’m going with.”

“Well. Looks like you’ve got this figured out.”

“No, I don’t know anything about this thing. You do.”

“And what?”

“And maybe you should catch me up on all this. That’s all. Sound doable?”

“Well I’d rather you hear it all from me.”

“Instead of who?”

“How ‘bout we start in the morning.”

It isn’t a question. Sarah looks at Beth and tries to piece together how this expression is suddenly more put together than the one on the platform. Whole and scared and unmovable, melting and searching and trusting. It was just tired before, tired and tensed and instigating. And that was just hours ago.

Sarah nods. Sarah flips onto her stomach. Sarah crosses her arms on top of the pillow and nestles her face in the crook of an elbow. Sarah closes her eyes. She can feel Beth shift and rustle and get comfortable. Then it’s quiet.

Neither of them can ask for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration Song: https://youtu.be/5GTbM5-ku-M


	3. Running On The Edge of A Broken Record

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some time after chapter 1 and 2, for sure, but none of this fic is very linear or cohesive

Sarah felt the urge to run go up and down her legs, up and up and down her legs again, up and up and up and down. The feeling lighted itself on her shoulders, buried itself in her lungs, rested briefly at the small of her back. She could feel it fold a cocoon around her, silk threads weaving back and forth, in and out, haphazardly simultaneous with her ragged breathing. Her heart sounded tepid and hollow in comparison to her lips, which pulsed with a rhythmic urgency.

Because the feeling anchored itself onto her lips, rooted itself onto her lips, centered itself there and pumped out past her teeth to the rest of her body. As she slowly filled with the urge to run, functioned on it like a life force, she kissed Elizabeth Childs over and over again like it could drown out the white noise of a desperate heartbeat.

_ Runrun-runrun-runrun-runrun-runru—  _ “We’re staying,”

For the night, for one more night, Sarah found herself obeying.

\---

“Look, it’ll be for a week, alright? Just a week.” Beth had started shaking her head the second the argument left Sarah’s mouth and her hands balled into fists. “From what you’ve said, he gets to leave the bloody country every other weekend, what’s stopping  _ you _ ?”

“He...he has friends in Cincinnati. A place to stay. I don’t, and no reason to leave, I—”

Sarah stomped forward, following after Beth’s attempt to escape to the bedroom. “And what do you think his reason is? I know this shit is hard, I of all people know what it’s doing to you. But just because he thinks he’s collateral damage, doesn’t mean he can just—”

“Collateral damage? You don’t know the half of it.” Beth said bitterly, letting herself fall onto the bed.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you go blaming yourself for something he can’t handle. He’s not the victim, he’s not in this like you and me. It’s not the same, this is our  _ lives _ .” Beth hung her head in her hands and Sarah took a reluctant step back. “Look, all I’m saying is you need the break more than he does, so why—”

“It’s out of character.” Beth’s voice was firm but groaning, like a broken record that took solace in repeating itself. “I can’t just up and leave without him, take time off work, just because I need a vacation. It’s not like me.”

“Art will understand if you say you need it.” But she wasn’t looking at Sarah, barely paying attention, closing off. Crouching on the floor in front of her, Sarah took Beth’s hands and tugged gently. “And how are they gonna know that Paul won’t be with you if you don’t tell ‘em, huh? It’ll be fine.”

Beth was shaking her head again, eyes closed stubbornly. “Paul isn’t going to let it go like that. He’ll get suspicious, say something to his handler—” Sarah scoffed and dropped Beth’s hands, standing and turning away. “I’m not overreacting here, Sarah! He will! It’s what he...what he’s  _ trained _ to do. There’s no way around him. I just need to keep my head low, keep building things up to normal again, keep poking at things as quietly as possible—”

“You consider Maggie Chen quiet? How about Katja?” Sarah’s teeth gritted against the edges of her words like metal against metal. Beth glared at the floor.

“That’s not fair.”

“This shit sent you  _ spiraling _ and with blood on your hands!” Sarah growled back, arms swinging around with her body, hands balled up into tight fists—their natural state these days. “The others count on you,  _ I _ count on you. But we count on you staying functional. Right now you’re doing too much, too fast, and all at once without a second to breathe because what if...”

Beth, broken down into her exhaustion, heard her voice, reticent and frail and stumbling upward. “What? If  _ what _ ?”

Sarah stared at the door, away from Beth, like she was planning to tear the thing into pieces. “What if you end up right back where we started and I’m not there to stop you again? If  _ he’s _ not there to stop you? I’m not...we can’t lose you, Beth.” A hand closed around hers and Sarah glanced back. Beth’s eyes were tired and blank but painfully resolute.

“I’m sorry. I’m staying.” Sarah looked down at her shoes. “But it certainly doesn’t mean you have to.” Scoffing, Sarah broke apart from Beth like they were, for the first time, repelling magnets, no longer inexplicably drawn together like fate, like destiny, like clones. “Things are hard right now, I know, but we—”

“Things are  _ always _ hard. Things are always risky, things always take time, things are always complicated. Do you have any new ones to try out? You can’t talk to me like I’m Alison.” Her steel-eyed gaze, resolute and unyielding, watched as Beth curled in from the loss of contact, wrapping her arms around herself instead. “But above all, don’t tell me to leave. I’m not going anywhere without you, I  _ can’t _ , you know damn well I can’t. I know there’s no running from this shit, I know there’s no hiding, I know...” Heat rises, heat expands, Sarah’s bones were on fire and she suddenly felt big enough to fill the entire room, envelop the two in an all-consuming warmth, and as she looked closely at Beth, at her raging stillness, at her silent strength, the steel in Sarah’s eyes grew molten. “I know you’re right, Beth, I do, but can’t we at least try to run? At least see how far we get?”

Beth knows Sarah, that fact has always been true, and she knows what Sarah’s really asking for. So she drifts forward until she can frame Sarah’s face with her hands.  _ We can’t become cowards, Sarah, not now. We can’t afford it. And I won’t have anyone else pay the price for us. You wouldn’t want anyone to either.  _ “I need to get through this week. And I need you on my side through it.”

“Beth,  _ always _ , but—”

“No that’s it. That’s all. I need to get through this week. And then after we can really look into it. Alright?”

Sarah felt her lips start pulsing again, throbbing with the effort to keep still, until it was all too much. She jerked forward into a kiss, sloppy and stumbling at first until Beth took over. It was meant to be an affirmation, an agreement, but they knew the other was just lying through their teeth. And it would work.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I pull you in far enough yet? Hope so, because this was so fun to write and I totally plan to continue. I mean, all that from a scene that lasted a minute and 17 seconds, how could a writer possibly say no to this idea?! But updates might be a bit choppy, a bit discombobulated. It'll eventually resemble some kind of chronological order, I promise, but for now I hope you don't mind bearing with me.


End file.
